


what my body wants me to be

by demonprodigy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (ingrid is a gender-nonconforming lesbian!), Chivalry!, Developing Relationship, F/F, Femslash, First Kiss, Fluff, Gender Exploration???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 21:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonprodigy/pseuds/demonprodigy
Summary: My dashing knight.  The words made Ingrid’s cheeks glow.





	what my body wants me to be

**Author's Note:**

> me, banging on the doors to the FE3H writers' headquarters: ingrid brandl galatea is a gnc lesbian and you Will acknowledge that
> 
> i literally wrote this fucker in 3 hours because i spent my entire workday thinking about this ship huehuehue >:3c
> 
> title is from "townie" by mitski, but my main inspiration (and the song you should listen to while reading!) is "[1950](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNxWTS25Tbk)" by king princess!

Ingrid had hoped, privately (very,  _ very  _ privately) that wartime would mean the end of noble society’s obsession with status and spectacle, or at least a welcome reprieve from it. Surely, there were more important matters at hand than who threw what feast, whose children married into whose bloodline, and who had the coin and connections to make sure the entire damn world knew about both - and yet,  _ somehow _ , those  _ meaningless  _ things still mattered to some. Even in times of war, the rich were still rich - and often, getting richer through means Ingrid didn’t particularly want to sully her mind thinking about - and they were still, she thought, terribly nearsighted. Who cared about crests and dowries when the battles practically at their front gates might ensure that nobody was left to carry on the family inheritance, genetic or otherwise?

That was how she had found herself at yet another tediously extravagant ball, tugged into a murderously tight corset, powders weighing heavy on her eyes and cheeks and her hair the sort of disheveled that took several hours of servants’ hard work to achieve, digging her palms into closed fists behind her back and praying to the Goddess that no fool of a nobleman asked her to dance. The fact that she had been able to walk so far in these too-tight shoes was a miracle; anything that required more grace than that would surely end in disaster.

She scanned the room nervously, watching the swirls of dancers’ skirts and capelets, catching a few familiar faces among the fine silks and gleams of jewelry. There was Sylvain, of course, up to his usual tricks and surrounded by a crowd of blushing and giggling young ladies (she supposed she couldn’t blame him for falling back on old habits; any break from the weight of his responsibilities at House Gautier was probably extremely welcome at the moment.) There was her father, no doubt chatting up her best qualities to the man handing him another goblet of mead, and conspicuously neglecting to mention the state of the family’s finances. And there was-

Oh,  _ no _ . The mask of pleasant disinterest she’d been trying so hard to uphold cracked as, try as she might to stop it, her lip curled in annoyance. There was only one man she knew with hair  _ that  _ blonde and grease-slicked, with  _ that  _ much of a penchant for purple (presumably chosen due to its high price as a dye, but Ingrid had always secretly thought it made him resemble more of a bunch of grapes.) His name was Lord Guernsey, and Ingrid knew him all  _ too  _ well; he’d been yet another of the suitors invited to the Galatea estate by her father over the years. She’d been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, overly purple wardrobe and all, and then he’d tried to slide a hand up her skirt  _ right there at the dinner table _ ,

(She’d claimed it was accidental that she’d knocked a candelabra into his lap in her rush to stand and smooth her clothes back into place, but really, who could have blamed her if it was a bit more… calculated than that? Any man who put his hands on a woman without permission, as far as Ingrid was concerned, deserved more than a slightly singed pair of trousers.)

The poor girl he was talking to looked viscerally uncomfortable, her shoulders arching up like a dog’s raised hackles as he placed a hand on her bared shoulder; he took a half-step closer, grin practically oozing predatory pride, and Ingrid’s lips twisted further with disgust.  _ That’s enough _ , she thought. She couldn’t save every poor girl at this ball from that… that  _ creature’s  _ advances, but she could save at least one the trouble of dealing with it. Squaring her shoulders (and saying a silent prayer for her ankles not to give out under her) she ducked between the dancers and revelers, crossing the room to where the couple stood.

“Pardon me for the interruption,” she chirped, hoping the false cheeriness in her voice would mask her true feelings, “I’ve got an important matter I need to discuss with-”

She glanced at the subject of Lord Guernsey’s attention and nearly choked on her own words. She hadn’t recognized her from the back - not with the extra few inches she’d shot up since they’d last seen each other - but Dorothea Arnault was unmistakable up close. Her discomfort didn’t show on her features, but Ingrid was well-practiced in the art of hiding her true feelings as well, and everything about Dorothea at this moment screamed that she’d rather be anywhere but in front of this man.

“With Dorothea here,” she continued, looping her arm around the other girl’s; Dorothea straightened near-imperceptibly, before relaxing into Ingrid’s touch. “It’s urgent, so if you’ll excuse us-”

If Dorothea minded being dragged bodily past the sputtering noble and out the great gold-foiled doors behind him, she didn’t say so; once outside, where it was blessedly quiet but for the muffled sounds of music and conversation from indoors and the bubbling of the courtyard fountain, her posture changed entirely, sagging against Ingrid’s shoulder with a sigh.

“You have no idea how grateful I am to you for that, my dashing knight,” she said with a relieved chuckle.

_ My dashing knight. _ The words made Ingrid’s cheeks glow; she was grateful for the low torchlight for hiding  _ that  _ particular response. She’d never responded well to pretty words and compliments; usually, they made her skin feel too tight, like she was being reminded that it had been put on all wrong - but something about  _ those  _ words, from  _ this  _ girl, kindled a tiny fire in the vague vicinity of her heart.

“I’ve got some idea, at least,” Ingrid replied, grimacing and trying her best to force her heartbeat to slow in her chest. As Dorothea settled herself on the edge of the fountain, trailing a hand through the water, she explained to her once-senior classmate about her own encounter with Guernsey, burnt clothing and all.

“I just- I couldn’t let you stand there, with no polite way to escape,” she finished, taking a seat next to the other girl. “You looked so  _ uncomfortable _ .”

“A  _ candelabra _ ,” Dorothea repeated, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye with one well-manicured finger. “Oh, Ingrid. Though I suppose you have more restraint than I do - I would have gone for the  _ knives _ .”

“Sadly, it’s a bit harder to stab a dinner guest and make it look like an accident.”

Dorothea’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I can think of a few ways…” She trailed off, as if distracted, and Ingrid tried not to focus  _ too  _ hard on the way those eyes were taking her in, sweeping over the makeup that still felt alien to her face, the hairstyle she’d trade in for a simple ponytail in  _ seconds  _ if she could. “I have to say, though, darling, you don’t exactly look comfortable tonight, either.”

Ingrid sighed. “I feel like a pigeon dressed as a peacock. I suppose none of your attempts to… to  _ pretty me up _ back at the academy really stuck.”

“My dear,  _ pretty  _ is still too limited of a word to describe you.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” Ingrid muttered, looking everywhere but at the other girl’s face. It wasn’t that she had ever thought she was ugly. If you’d asked her to look in a mirror and describe herself, the word she would have picked would have been…  _ adequate _ . Her face wasn’t as delicate and well-formed as the girls she’d often caught herself watching at the monastery; her limbs weren’t willowy and graceful, but they were strong and could drive a lance through a target like she was born to do so. Her body served a purpose, and years of hard work had assured it served it well; everything else was secondary.

“I don’t flatter,” Dorothea said, and then, seeing the way Ingrid’s eyebrows shot up, corrected herself: “I don’t flatter people unless I’m looking to gain something, then, and I wouldn’t be so underhanded with you. You’re still just as stunning as you were when we met.”

“I don’t feel stunning, I feel… powdery.” Ingrid gestured vaguely to the colors spread across her eyelids, over her cheekbones. “I don’t feel like  _ me _ .”

“Then let me help with that.”

One moment, Dorothea was trailing her fingers through the water of the fountain; the next, the water was splashing Ingrid’s face, the sharp cold of it nearly making her lose her balance and fall in altogether.

“Doro _ thea _ !” she shrieked, shocked just as much by her companion’s boldness as by the sudden sensation. “You- what-” Her hands flew up to cover the mess that her face surely was, makeup dripping down it in artless streams of color.

“Don’t  _ yell _ ,” Dorothea reprimanded, but she was still laughing. “I couldn’t stand to see you looking so self-conscious a second longer.”

“Then you could have looked away,” Ingrid said, face burning.

“Nonsense.” Her hands closed around Ingrid’s own, tugging them gently away from her face; Ingrid couldn’t help noticing, as she nervously raised her gaze to meet Dorothea’s, that the older girl didn’t let go. Her hands were so  _ warm _ ; every place that their fingers interlocked just felt so - comforting. Safe.

“Much better,” Dorothea said, and was her voice a shade lower, just a bit softer than before? “ _ There’s _ the handsome girl I knew.”

_ Handsome girl _ \- it was like gasoline to the fire still flickering in her chest. The word turned her body to a forest fire.  _ She thinks I’m handsome _ . It felt right - more right than any boy who’d ever insisted her beauty’s struck their heart like an arrow, more right than when her friends had clasped her hand,  _ oh Ingrid, you’d be so gorgeous if _ \- She’d never wanted beauty. She’d never wanted  _ gorgeous _ .

_ Handsome _ . She could live with that. A handsome, dashing knight in shining armor.

“Ingrid,” Dorothea said, as if repeating it, and Ingrid realized she  _ was _ ; she had been calling Ingrid’s name, trying to break her out of her reverie. “You - the way you checked out on me, is it okay that I - was it alright to say that, I -”

“Of  _ course  _ it was alright.” Ingrid squeezed Dorothea’s hand, gentle but firm. “More than alright, really. I… Actually, perhaps you shouldn’t call me that again, I, I don’t know what I’m liable to  _ do _ .” She swallowed, hoping her palms weren’t as slick with sweat as they suddenly felt. “I think… It made me feel a bit… mad.”

“Ah..” Dorothea’s eyebrows raised, her mouth pursed into a curious, rose-like  _ oh _ , and Ingrid truly  _ must  _ have been going mad, because for a split second, she thought:  _ I wouldn’t mind lipstick on me, if it were hers _ .

They were sitting so  _ close _ now; when had she shifted her body so far towards Dorothea’s? If she leaned on, only just a little, they’d be near enough to-

“Please, say it again,” she mumbled, half hoping Dorothea wouldn’t be able to parse the words; if she asked Ingrid to repeat herself, maybe she could make something up, something that would keep the world spinning on its regular axis instead of spiralling off into the unknown-

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea,” Dorothea said, seriously, looking straight into Ingrid’s eyes; she was near enough that Ingrid could feel the warmth of her breath on her own lips, smell the soft florals of her perfume. “I’ve always thought you were the most handsome knight I’ve ever-”

_ Damn you _ , Ingrid thought wildly,  _ damn you and damn me as well _ , because how was she supposed to resist, now? How was she supposed to do anything  _ but  _ bridge the distance between them, press her lips against the softness of Dorothea’s, feel the giddy somersault of her heart when Dorothea kissed her back? How was she  _ ever  _ supposed to go back to a life of being called  _ pretty _ , of spending her life with someone who would bring fortune to her family but nothing to her own life, when  _ this  _ was an option? She hadn’t even  _ known  _ this was an option.

“Wow,” Dorothea whispered against her mouth when she finally pulled away. “Perhaps I should compliment you more often.”

Ingrid flushed. “I can’t say I’d mind.”

She rested her forehead against Dorothea’s, both girls catching their breath, hands still tangled together.

“My father will be looking for me,” Ingrid said, eventually. “We should go back inside, but…”

Dorothea’s fingers tightened around hers. “But he can wait a while longer, right?”

_ The world can wait _ , Ingrid thought, nodding. The world could fade away to nothingness entirely, for all she cared at the moment. For now - the solid stone beneath her, the night air around her, the touch of a girl who saw, truly  _ saw  _ her.

That was enough; that was all she needed.

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, PLEASE come talk 3H with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dimifeli) I LOVE THIS GAME SO MUCH


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